


Red Dreams

by OhItSmudged



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Headcanons Everywhere, I'm trying, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Western, alcoholic, headcanons, saloonatics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9654149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhItSmudged/pseuds/OhItSmudged
Summary: A crime boss called Red Bandit is managing to crawl into a certain sheriff's dreams, plaguing his sleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is to try to get rid of my writer's block.

__ _ It was a rather calm day in the town of Spitbucket USA, the sun was shining over the bronze looking horizon, birds that sang the sweetest of songs… _

 

_ It was all so magnificent. _

 

_ It was all so wrong.  _

 

_ “Hello, old friend.” A voice purred from behind.  _

 

_ This broke the train of thought, forcing him to bring the voice to attention and turn around to face it. _

 

_ Another man, dressed in a red shirt and grey bandana with a cowboy hat perched atop his head, was standing there only a few feet away. _ __   
  


_ “Red Bandit. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “Sheriff Thompson.”

 

_ The sheriff scowled at the other man, glaring. “The hell’re you doin’ here, outlaw…?” He growled out. _

 

_ The bandit had a small innocent smile plastered on his face, “You answer that… this is your dream ain’t it?”  _

_ Dammit he had a point.  _

_ “Just get to the point. This aint some type of witchcraft is it, bandit?” This was getting tedious. Thompson just wanted to have a decent nights sleep for once and here was the pesky fly that just had to continue bothering him. _

 

_ Narrowing his eyes, the outlaw simply said, “I’m here to remind you of the promise I made to you all that time ago… the promise that I’ll be the one to make you feel the true meaning of pain..” the opposing man reached out and grabbed the sheriff’s bandana, holding him up and letting loose a wild grin. The look in his grey eyes was pure malice, enough to scare men much bigger than Thompson himself. The sheriff yanked at Red Bandit’s hands, trying to pry them off the beige piece of clothing tied around his neck. _ __   
  


_ “-then afterward I’ll damn well see to it myself that your dumb little saliva pail town is turned to nothing but a lingering ghost town full of broken dreams and lost memories…” in the struggle to pull himself free, Sheriff Thompson noticed that the buildings around him were wilting like a flower.  _

_ The wood that made up the town began to turn brittle, some places it gave way. Metal signs that rusted either broke or were just hanging on by a thread.  _

_ The fields that held livestock had the bones of animals strewn about, dust blowing over them in a wave.  _

 

_ It was no longer a beautiful day.  _

 

_ “You little-!”  _

_ “Ah ah ah, sheriff… I wouldn't do that unless you want your brains blown to bits.” The Red bandit pulled out a gun, shoving it in Thompson’s mouth to shut him up. And it did.  _

 

_ “The day will come when I return and destroy your town like I've said before… only then after will I take your other eye so the last thing you'll see is the chaos you tried oh so hard to prevent.” _

 

_ A mix of feeling swirled around in his mind. Fear… anger….  _

 

_ Weakness.  _

 

_ “Until then, Thompson.” He pulled the trigger and the next thing the sheriff saw was that bastard’s smug grin before it all went black.  _

 

One functional eye snapped open and Thompson sat up before hunching forward. His breath was quick and there was a thin layer of sweat coating his skin that chilled him to the bone. He stood up, walking over to the dresser that had booze in the bottom two drawers and actual changes of clothing in the single top one.

A mirror was attached to the top, facing him. 

The one eyed man stared into the mirror for once.

He was decently built in his opinion, but in a fist to fist fight it probably wouldn’t end very well for him against that damned criminal who somehow clawed his way into the sheriff’s dreams and the height difference may be a deciding factor as well.

 

His hair was messy but that would be hidden by the giant hat he wore.

 

Looking outside the window, Thompson noted that the sun was coming back up and was just barely peaking over the horizon line. 

 

This made him sigh. It was just another day full of folks, whiskey, and the occasional bank robbery. 

 

The sheriff just put on a shirt, his coat, and lastly the giant hat. By the time he was finished the sun was only a little more way into the sky and it was time to head out and do rounds. But first he was going to A Good Place to Start.

 

Being an alcoholic, Thompson had made sure there was a bar nearby before gaining the rank of sheriff in the town of Spitbucket. With that said it was only a minutes walk.

 

The sheriff opened his door before closing it behind him, trudging over to the Saloon 'A Good Place to Start’. The people there were nice most of the time and the bartender made nice conversation and had the patience to actually listen to his drink rambling without throwing him out. 

 

When he walked into the bar, he took note that only one other person there was the barkeep himself.

 

“Morning Sheriff.” The barkeep greeted. 

 

“Mornin’... my usual, please…” Thompson sat down at the counter and waited for his drink.

 

“Have a nice rest?” The bartender said as he put the drink down on the counter in front of the Sheriff.    
  
“Ugh, no. Stupid dreams” Thompson picked up the whiskey and took a big swig, looking immensely annoyed.

 

“Mind telling me about it? May help to get it off ye chest, Sheriff.”

 

Thompson sighed before going off about how he saw Red Bandit and about how he had promised to destroy this town, how the houses and buildings looked, and how he just couldn’t wake up. 

 

Of course, the sheriff wouldn’t admit he was worried. Having the duty of assuring the folks of Spitbucket so they could sleep easy at night.

 

Through all this the bartender just listened, subconsciously cleaning a glass. He always listened to whatever the sheriff said, hell he even looked interested through most of it. He wouldn’t interrupt or judge like most men did in previous towns that Thompson held residence in for a while. This is what made it so easy to talk to him. Well… there was also the fact that this man had been getting him his poison since a few days after the sheriff had even been in that town.

 

“Sounds like a mighty unpleasant nightmare you got there, Sheriff.” The barkeep put down the glass, getting the one eyed Man of the Law another whiskey and placing it in front of him. 

 

The sheriff sighed. “It’s not the worst I’ve had.. That damned outlaw somehow to creep into my dreams just to torment me ever so often, so it ain’t nothing out of the ordinary…”

 

They stood and sat there in silence, the sheriff drinking his new bottle of whiskey and the barkeep cleaning away the trash.

After not too much longer, Thompson stood up. He placed some of their currency down on the counter. 

“Thanks for listening… Expect me back here a little bit after noon.” is what the man said before he walked out. 

 

The barkeep watched as the other walked out of the doors, gaining more and more distance away of the saloon. “Ah dear sheriff… having nightmares about Red Bandit now? Ain’t that sweet of ya…” 

 

Around noon, a man clad in dark blue walked into the bar like he said. The barkeep gave him his usual drink that was soon finished before the man in blue leaned against the wall. It was pretty obvious that the night’s sleep wasn’t a pleasant one but no one pointed that out.

 

Not too long after the sheriff finished his drink, a scream cut through the air. Then another, then another. They were screaming about robbers, bandits, murder. 

  
It seemed all at once disaster had struck. 


End file.
